


as into a dark fire

by stannide



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stannide/pseuds/stannide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fugitive Sakura seeks safe harbour in the home of a man who'd long walked out of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as into a dark fire

The corruption begins with the mouth,   
the tongue, the wanting.   
The first poem in the world   
is I want to eat.  
— Erica Jong,  _Where It Begins_

 

_Ring, ring._

“Hello?”

“It’s me. I… I need your help.”

_Pause._

“Please. You’re my last chance.”

_Thud, thud. Thud, thud._

“...Sakura?”

* * *

 

The drive to his place is quiet and heavy. Sakura waits for questions that do not come—a familiar feeling where this man is concerned. There has been too much waiting in her life lately. She directs her attention to the window, watching the landscape roll on as they zip past.

The house blends so well into the foliage that she only just realises he has begun to pull in. The architecture is classic and understated, without any ostentation to suggest what wealth the man has built out of the ruins of his family’s past. In the garage, her beat up secondhand sedan looks out of place parked next to his sleek black Maserati. Her embarrassment is fleeting: it is an emotion she can ill afford. She didn’t even purchase the car in her name, after all.

A fugitive only has so many luxuries.

He leads her into the house, taking her scant luggage without a word. Darkly appointed, the rooms as bare but as beautiful as the exterior. Modern minimalism in shades of ink and blood. It’s the kind of home that is at once pleasing to the eyes but easy enough to leave behind. Somehow, she can’t think of anything more suited for Sasuke.

Compared to the rest of the house, the guest room he has prepared for her is absurdly cheerful. The flooring is bright maple, and the clean sheets are a soft grey. Years ago, of a more romantic mind, Sakura might have found a hidden message peeking out at her from under his careful arrangements. Now it’s easy enough for her to realise that her room fits as poorly with the rest of the house as her car does in his garage, as she herself does in his life. She will not pretend she has a place here.

“Thank you,” she says, trailing a hand over the covers. Her voice is strange to her, as though she has spoken for the first time in centuries.

His own is richer than she remembers. “I’ll call you for dinner.”

“Can I help?”

He turns away. It speaks volumes enough. She steps back to let him leave. He closes the door behind him, and she wonders when his back had become so broad.

* * *

 

It’s only at dinner that she allows herself to look her fill of him. There are traces still of the boy she knew, a flicker of his movements in the man’s great shadow. Harder and harsher, Sasuke Uchiha has gone through the furies of the forge.

And Sakura is as weak for the man as she was for the boy.

She steals glances of the harsh angles of his jaw, the dark muss of his hair. Lingers, despite herself, on his mouth. She has no right to any of these paltry indulgences, but it is difficult to feel guilty under the press of his own gaze. Sakura isn’t blind to his slow assessment of her, eyes dark and glinting, the careful watch of a hawk. He is, if anything, less subtle than she is. Sasuke beholds her boldly and frankly, as though she is something dangerous, something viable to strike at any moment. Something woman.

“The steak is wonderful,” she begins. “I never took you for the cooking type.”

He responds only with silence. Emboldened, she presses, “How are you? I hear you’ve been doing well for yourself.”

The hint of a sneer plays about his lips, though the rest of him is as impenetrable as ever. “Is that so? Been talking to your beloved cousin-in-law over family dinner?”

Sakura takes a breath. “Sasuke,” she says. “I know what you’re doing for me right now. I’m so grateful, so grateful that there aren’t words for it. That’s why…” She doesn’t quite reach over to touch his hand, tempted as she is by the clear strength of it. But her smile has teeth. “I’m not your enemy. I’m not here to fight.”

“Then tell me why you’re really here.”

She’s sure he’s seen the headlines splashed all over the news, the insufferable sob story they’re making of this whole mess. She sighs. “This is something I have to do. Surely, you of all people can understand that.”

He grunts. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” Sakura hadn’t planned to rely on him, but the events had fallen out of her hands. It’s a dirty, shameful thing to admit to herself: everything else so far had been entirely in her control. She lowers her eyes. “If he finds me here…”

“He won’t.”

Final, immediate. It throws her off guard. She meets his eyes, not for the first time frustrated at her inability to see beyond his walls. He has nothing to gain from protecting her, and yet there can be no doubting his determination. What could he want from her, she wonders, rising to rinse her plate, and where would they go from here?

“Leave it,” he says, rising as well.

Sakura pushes her chair back. “I insist—”

“Sakura.”

She stares at him a long moment. “Fine.” Plate forgotten, she makes her way to his side in slow strides. She sets her hand on his arm.

He’s warm.

And yet he doesn’t move or respond, as though, Medusa-like, she has rendered him stone. Nevertheless, she leans in. “Thank you for dinner,” Sakura says, and kisses him on the cheek.

Something passes between them then, sharp and dark and feverishly bright. How many years has it been since they were last this close? The heady promise of their past—sensuous, unbearable—weaves around and between them like smoke. All at once she is struck by the smell and feel of him, the way his hand rises to the curve of her waist, tentative and forceful, like it might wrest from her yet more tenderness than she is ready to give. His touch lays there, burning like a brand, before, at last, she turns and slips away.

**Author's Note:**

> this was requested by the effervescent rhea via Naruto For Nepal, a nonprofit initiative that raises money for the people of nepal in the wake of this year’s earthquake. please visit narutofornepal@tumblr.com for more opportunities to request fanfiction and aid the people of nepal!
> 
> proofread by lia, who is marvellous as per usu.


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